


I Really Don't Care What You Did on Your Gap Year

by AlwaysChasing (MoreMarrMoreMoz)



Series: Coming of Age [2]
Category: Bastille (Band), To Kill A King (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, College, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Reunions, Romantic Fluff, Smut, Students, University
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-15 06:14:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15406800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoreMarrMoreMoz/pseuds/AlwaysChasing
Summary: Dan and Ralph are second year students looking for a new housemate.Dan's past catches up with him in this follow up to French Class (but can be read as a stand alone).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Banana_ana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banana_ana/gifts).



> The title of this fic comes from the song of the same name by Frank Turner.

“You really think you might have found someone to take the box room? Ralph, you beauty!”

I reach out to ruffle my housemate’s hair, the thought that we might not have to split the cost of the empty room between us for too much longer filling me with relief. The landlord of the terraced house we'd moved to after leaving the Halls of Residence we'd both lived in during our first year was a bastard, insisting that because the other guy who had originally been meant to move in had dropped out it was up to us to find a replacement or we'd have to soak up the excess cost between the two of us. We're poor students. That really isn’t a long-term option.

“He sounded desperate, I think he'll take it.”

“He'd have to be desperate,” I reply, thinking of just how small the box room is and the weird doctor's-waiting-room-green colour it's painted. “What time's he coming?”

“He said he'd be here at five, so please don't mess up the living room with all your shit. It took me all afternoon to tidy. I even figured out how to use the hoover.” Ralph must register the surprise on my face because he adds, “what? I'm trying to make a good impression here. But I do have to go to work, so you'll have to show him around.”

I groan at the prospect. We've had a few people come to look at the room – the sought-after Chapeltown location luring potential housemates in – but it's almost impossible to keep them interested when they realise there's not even room for a wardrobe, just an Ikea chest of drawers and a sad single bed. 

“But then you'll blame me if he doesn't take it,” I grumble.

“Do whatever you need to do to get him to take the room, I'm not bothered. I just can't afford to keep paying rent and a half any more. It means I'm working for nothing because everything I earn goes straight to that twat Giles.”

“It's our own fault. We should have read the contract. Either that or insisted James pay for the room for letting us down at the last minute.”

Ralph shakes his head. “That would have been harsh given the circumstances. His sister's terminally ill, we couldn't say ‘Yeah, it sucks that you're dropping out because your sister's dying, but by the way you owe us £400 a month,” he says, and I know he's right. Neither of us are the sort to be tough like that, especially not to James who was one of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet.

“I know, I know,” I sigh. “But I still don't feel happy about having a stranger move in. They could be a psychopath. Or worse.”

Ralph laughs at that, rubbing his hand across his stubby chin. “Stop being such a drama queen. Anyway, what could be worse than a psychopath? Surely that's the worst case scenario even for you.”

“Hmmm...” I reply, trying to come up with some smart-alec comment but failing.

“See? It'll be fine.” Ralph grabs his jacket from the back of the settee before heading out of the kitchen door. He pops his head back around as an afterthought. “And Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“Be nice. And don't try to be funny.”

I give him the side eye, because as much as Ralph says he hates my jokes he's got the same sense of humour as me. It's one of the reasons we get on so well and that we've become best friends over the past year.

“Haven't you got work to get to?” I remind him, casting my eye towards the kitchen clock.

“Yes, and by the time I get back I want you to have persuaded Carl that he needs that box room,” Ralph replies pointedly. 

“Yes boss,” I reply sarcastically, as the door slams behind him. 

I just hope this Carl is as desperate to find a place as Ralph thinks he is.

*

I look at the clock for the umpteenth time. Quarter past five and there's still no sign of Carl. I should have known it was too good to be true – the new academic year starts next week, no one would still be looking for accommodation at this point in the year.

Hope fading by the second, I head to the fridge to see if Ralph's got any beers in. It's been a hot day for September and I’ve been lusting after alcohol since lunchtime. When I spy the cans, hidden in the veg drawer under a bag of carrots that Ralph munches on whenever he gets hungry, it’s all I can do not to let out a cheer. 

Clicking the ring pull until it lets out a satisfying hiss, I flop back into the black armchair and relax. On the bright side, at least if Ralph and I do end up having to live here alone this year it'll be drama-free because he's so laid-back. But that doesnt solve the money situation...

I'm interrupted by a sharp rap on the door and, figuring it must be Carl, I take one final swig from the can before pushing myself up from the chair.

Remembering Ralph's words, I force a grin that I hope passes as welcoming rather than creepy onto my face before opening the door.

But my smile quickly falls as two familiar dark-brown eyes stare back at me. The rest of his face looks different to how I remember, mainly because at some point in the past four years he's grown a large, neatly-groomed beard, but I'd recognise him anywhere.

When I'd said to Ralph I couldn't think of anything worse than a psychopath I hadn't even considered this as an option. This was worse. This was infinitely worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while - I got distracted by a couple of short fic ideas ('Fairground Attraction' and 'Tickle Wars') which I just had to get out of my system, plus I've been busy with other life stuff. I will try to update weekly from now on.
> 
> Comments, thoughts and kudos gladly received - I'd love to know what you want from this fic as I'm kind of winging it right now.

“Hi,” says Carl-who-isn’t-Carl, with an over-excited toothy grin. “I’m here about the room?”

“Yeah, sure,” I mumble, trying to appear unflappable even though my heart’s going like the clappers. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“I’ll be straight. If you’ll have me, I want in,” he says, and the way his eyes, as round and dark as chocolate Minstrels, connect with mine sets my stomach fizzing like a Catherine wheel. Why's he talking in innuendo? Just to rile me, to fuck with my mind? “I’ve been in Thailand all summer. Should’ve sorted out accommodation before I went but you know…” He shrugs as his voice tails off, before holding out his hand. “I’m Kyle by the way. You must be Ralph.”

Fuckity fucking fuck. 

“Oh. No.” I’m so mortified that Kyle doesn’t recognise me I can’t bring myself to offer my name. I mean, how do you not recognise someone who wanked you off in French Class in Year 10? “Ralph’s at work.”

His eyes narrow. Why does it feel as though he's sizing me up? “So, are you going to show me what’s on offer?”

“Erm…yeah. Come in.”

As I step aside to make way for Kyle to enter the galley kitchen, I notice he has two large suitcases with him.

He notices my confusion, because he says, “I thought I could move straight in.” Panic must be written on my face because he adds, “I’m good for the money. Ralph said month and a half up front, and I’ve got it in cash.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bulging manila envelope. 

“The room’s small. Really small. It’s why no one’s taken it so far,” I say, part of me thinking we really need the money and the other part thinking there’s no way on earth I can houseshare with Kyle Simmons for a year, especially when it appears he doesn’t remember me from Adam. “We’ll totally understand if it’s not what you’re after.”

Kyle doesn’t even appear to be listening, his eyes are flitting around the kitchen and into the lounge beyond. He nods his approval as he drags his suitcases through and parks them up in the gap next to the tall fridge freezer.

“I don’t need much space. I’ve spent the past six months sleeping either in a one man tent or straight under the stars on the beach. That’s the great thing about travelling, it teaches you how little you really need.”

My teeth grind together as I force an awkward smile. All I want to do is shout, ‘I REALLY DON’T CARE WHAT YOU DID ON YOUR GAP YEAR!’ but of course I have to be polite, so instead I tell him the available room is on the right at the top of the stairs and that he’s welcome to go ahead and look at it.

He climbs the stairs - two at a time with those stupidly long legs of his - and it’s all I can do not to stare at his arse. It might be encased in denim, but still – it's as though he's deliberately taunting me as with every stride it moves from side to side.

I collapse into the chair as I wait. The creak of the upstairs floorboards suggest he’s walking around, probably checking out the bathroom which is directly overhead. The length of the box room would be the equivalent of two of Kyle’s paces at most, so he can't be walking around that.

The vibration of my phone in my pocket causes me to jump, and I catch Ralph’s name flashing on the screen before swiping at the green icon to accept the call.

“Hello,” I answer, my tone clipped. “What do you want?”

He half laughs, half snorts at that. “No need for the attitude, mate. I wanted to ring before my shift starts to see how it’s gone with Carl. So, have we got a new housemate who’s the answer to all our prayers or what?”

Something about his words sets me off. The high pitched nervous giggles that are flowing out of me might even be enough to be classified as hysterical behaviour. I turn towards the open window, hoping air will help me clear my head. If I didn't know better I'd think I was drunk.

“He arrived late, I’d cracked open a beer thinking he was another no-show. Then when he did turn up he brought all his stuff with him,” I say, casting my eyes towards the suitcases, wondering if there's anything in them I’d recognise from school. I pull myself up sharply, realising what a stupid notion that is. He’s not going to have brought the black puffer jacket he wore back then, it wouldn’t fit him for starters, plus his style's changed. These days he's all indie hipster, with his beard and string bracelets halfway up to his elbow. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean his stuff’s in our lounge and he offered cash up front before he even saw the room,” I snap. “It’s ridiculous.”

“I hope you snatched his hand off,” Ralph says, seriously. “You know we need him and that money.”

“You don’t get it,” I say, rubbing my hand through my hair. Massaging my scalp does nothing to soothe me. “I don’t think I can live with him."

“Stop being so melodramatic, Dan. I’m sure he’s not that bad. We can keep out of his way if he’s a weirdo. Workload’s going to be going up a notch this year, we’ll just decamp to the library.”

“You don’t get it,” I repeat, my voice a low hiss. “’Carl’ isn’t Carl. He’s Kyle.” I place emphasis on the name, waiting for the penny to drop for Ralph. I'd told him the whole French class saga one night after we’d got through a large bottle of sambucca between us, the whole sorry story including how Kyle had left town without so much as a goodbye.

“Kyle?” I can almost hear the cogs whirring. “French class Kyle? Your Kyle?”

“Yes!” I practically shout, “The Kyle I wanked off when I fifteen, who I’ve been obsessing over ever since. The one I've written songs about and cried about and turned down other guys for because they can't live up to him. That one. So yes, I guess you could say he’s my Kyle.”

“Ahem,” comes a cough from behind me, and I spin around to see Kyle looming in the doorway, one arm lazily lolloping against the wooden doorframe; eyes wide and sparkling and an expression I can't decipher etched on his face. 

“Speak to you later, Ralph,” I say hurriedly, hanging up before he has time to ask any questions. 

Blood races to my cheeks, my head most likely swelling up like a beetroot the way it does when I’m mortified. And I’ve never been more mortified in my life than I am right now, because there’s no doubting Kyle heard every word I just said.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” he says, slowly but purposefully. The way he looks at me makes me feel about an inch tall, as though everything I’ve built what we had up to be over the past four years was nothing. 

He steps towards me, and I instinctively step back until my body's pressed against the window. He doesn’t come any closer though, instead placing the envelope of cash on the coffee table. The purple slips of paper spill out across the surface before he moves towards his suitcases, picks up one in each hand and makes his way back towards the stairs. 

“And Dan?" he says. "About the room - I’ll take it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chocolate Minstrels are disc shaped candy with a hard outer shell that's chestnut brown.
> 
> Purple slips of paper - £20 are purple. They're one of the more popular notes and if you go to a cash machine you'd be unlikely to get given £50 notes - more likely to get a wedge of 20s.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it! Comments always welcome.

The big advantage of having the downstairs bedroom is having easy access to the fridge, but now all Ralph's beers are gone and I'm feeling lightheaded enough to consider raiding his room for the good stuff. I know he has vodka in there, and an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. 

I'll need him onside if I'm going to have to live with Kyle Simmons for the next year, but I need the alcohol more right now. Maybe if I drink enough I'll be able to forget how Kyle overheard me telling Ralph how much he means to me.

I drag myself up the stairs to Ralph's room in the attic - trying to be as quiet as possible as I pass the box room. Knowing Kyle's on the other side of the door makes me nervous.

Ralph's bedroom door is open - fool - so I grab the brand new bottle and trudge back down to my room, falling back onto the navy blue duvet cover and marvelling at the stars that dance across the ceiling. Maybe I've had more to drink than I realise, but that doesn't stop me twisting the cap on the bottle and gulping down the whisky. The burn of the alcohol is pleasant, and I keep swigging until I can't see straight and my throat is nearly numb.

The room spins as though I'm on a carousel, a riot of light and colour flashing until it all goes black.

*

“Dan! Dan!” 

The familiar voice of my best friend sounds hazy and distant to my ears and although I want to I can't muster the energy to open either my eyes or my mouth.

“For fuck's sake, Dan. How much have you had?” 

Ralph shakes me roughly. “It is just drink, yeah? You haven't taken anything?”

I detect the worry in his tone, but even that isn't enough to encourage me to speak. In my semi-dreamlike state I can hide from reality, and that's all I want to do.

“Dan.” 

Ralph's louder now, more insistent, and I try to make an encouraging hum of a noise so he knows I'm ok but no noise comes out. 

Just leave me alone to sleep until June when our contract on this place expires, and if not until then, at least until the morning!

Footsteps clatter against the stairs, followed by another voice I would know anywhere.

“Everything alright, mate? Ralph, right?”

“He's not responding. I think we ought to call an ambulance.” Ralph's voice has reached fever pitch now and I try again to speak but still can't get any words out. Everything is beyond me, it's all too much effort and for what? 

“Let me try.”

I must be drunk, because for some reason I'd half expect him to wake me up with a kiss, swooping in like a fairytale prince on his steed.

That's why I'm shocked when Kyle's hand forcefully connects with my cheek, the sharp clap that accompanies it reverberating off the walls.

“Owww. Wa’sh goin’ on?”

My words slur together as I blink, my eyes adjusting to the light.

“You're pissed. Ralph was worried.”

Kyle's expression is hard, his words curt, cutting and sobering.

“Sleeping. Tha's all.”

“You're a mess,” Kyle says, shaking his head. “Drinking on your own until you pass out?” His eyes scan to where the whisky bottle lies empty on the floor. “It's pathetic.”

I want Ralph to step in and stand up for me, but his lips are pressed tightly together, his expression grim. My chest tightens as the bile rises in my throat and I swallow it down, determined not to vomit. This is already close to topping the charts for low moments in my existence and I've had my fair share of those.

“I'll get you a coffee,” Kyle says, leaving the room and making his way to the kitchen but not before giving me a look which makes me want to crawl deep within myself.

“What were you thinking?” Ralph hisses.

“I...I don't know.” I hadn't thought anything, other than I didn't know how to deal with the overwhelming emotions that seeing Kyle had unleashed within me. “It seemed a good idea.”

“And you owe me for that JD. Shitting hell, Dan. No wonder you look like death. Is this all because of Kyle?”

“Ssshhhh!” My eyes automatically flit to the kitchen. I can see straight through the lounge to where Kyle's pulling open drawers, trying to find the mugs. In fact, I can see two of him. “He'll hear.”

Ralph sighes. “I can't talk to you when you're like this, your eyes are all over the place. Have the coffee, sleep it off and we'll talk in the morning.”

Mild terror runs through me at the thought of Ralph leaving me alone with Kyle, and I pull myself upright, leaning against the uncomfortable wooden headboard. The room whirls again and I can barely make out Ralph leaving the room as dizziness takes hold.

My stomach lurches and I try and fail to remember when I last ate. 

“Coffee.” Kyle slams the drink down on my bedside table, the almost-black liquid spilling over the rim and pooling on my notebook. Even in my drunken state I know there will be a tell-tale ring stain there in the morning, a reminder of my regrettable decision to drink so much. “Black. It'll help.”

I might be imagining it, but I sense a softer edge to his voice now and I tilt my head to look up at him. He's in soft focus, like the world when I'm not wearing contacts or my glasses, and I resist the urge to reach out and touch him. He's like a mirage, and I can't quite believe that he's real.

“Thanks, Kyle,” I say genuinely. “I ‘ppreciate it.”

“You look like you need it. And you owe Ralph an apology too. I think he thought you were dead.”

Kyle lowers himself onto my bed, which of course sets my overactive brain racing. All the hours I've spent dreaming of us being together, but never once has it been like this in my mind, with Kyle was pitying my ineptitude as a human.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's not me you need to be apologising to, dude.”

“Not ‘bout this.” I gesture to myself, to the bottle that's still lying on the floor. “’bout earlier. It was a shock seeing you. ‘s been a long time.”

“I wasn’t exactly expecting to see you either, Dan.” My heart swells at the sound of my name coming from his lips. “It'll be alright though. You said it yourself , it's been a long time. It's no big deal, let's forget all the stuff at school. We were kids.”

Had he not heard my declaration of love earlier? Was he seriously unaware of how much what we'd shared meant to me, how much he meant to me?

“Have some coffee,” he says, leaning over me, picking up the mug and placing it in my hand.

Even the smell turns my stomach, but I take a sip regardless.

Big mistake.

Before the drink has even made it down my throat, liquid rises from my stomach – beer and whisky and bile meeting the bitter coffee head on. 

I can't control it. There's nothing I can do. Nothing other than spew my guts up all over my duvet, and all over the crotch of Kyle's jeans.


End file.
